The Mark of the Assassin

so I can continue to
    make money. Believe me, Jean-Paul, I wouldn't send you into a situation
    where I thought you could get hurt. You pay me to field offers and give
    you sound advice. I advise you to hear what these people have to say, on
    their terms."
    Delaroche looked at him. Was he slipping? Was the prospect of an
    enormous payday clouding his judgment? "How many people will be there?"
    "I'm told just one."
    "Weapons?"
    Arbatov shook his head. "You'll be searched as you enter the flat ."
    "Weapons come in all shapes and sizes, Mikhail."
    "So you'll do it?"
    "I'll think about it."
    Delaroche gestured toward the waiter. "C' est tout."
    CHAPTER 14.
    CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia.
    MICHAEL LEFT THE HOUSE very early and drove along the deserted parkway
    toward headquarters in the gray half-light of dawn. He picked up coffee
    and a stale bagel from the swill pit and walked upstairs to the Center.
    The last of the shakedown night shift was there, bleary-eyed, hunched
    over computer screens and old paper files like medieval monks trapped in
    the wrong time. Eurotrash was reading the morning cables. Blaze was
    showing Cynthia how to kill with a piece of paper. Michael sat down at
    his desk and switched on his computer.
    According to Belgian police, two suspected Sword of Gaza action agents
    were spotted aboard a train crossing into the Netherlands. Britain's
    security service, MI5, intercepted a phone call from an Islamic
    intellectual living in London that suggested a retaliatory attack
    somewhere in Europe was imminent. Satellite photographs of the ruined
    training camp in Iran revealed hasty reconstruction. The most important
    piece of overnight intelligence came last. Syrian intelligence officials
    traveled to Tehran the previous week to meet with their Iranian
    counterparts. Michael had seen movements like these in the past. The
    Sword of Gaza was planning to strike an American target in Europe,
    probably soon. He picked up his internal telephone and dialed Carter's
    office, but there was no answer. He hung up and stared at his computer
    terminal. Why don't you run Vandenberg's name through that fancy
    computer you have at Langley and see if anything comes up? Michael typed
    in Vandenberg's name and instructed the computer to search the database.
    Ten seconds later he received a reply.
    FILE RESTRICTED. ACCESS UNAUTHORIZED.
    "WHAT THE FUCK do you think you were doing?"
    Carter was angrier than Michael had ever seen him. He was seated at his
    desk, rapping a thick pen on his leather blotter, his normally pallid
    complexion red with exertion. McManus sat behind him, silent, as if
    awaiting his turn with an uncooperative suspect. "It was just a hunch I
    had," Michael said weakly, and immediately regretted it, for he could
    see by Carter's reaction that he had only made matters worse. "A hunch?
    You had a hunch, so you decided to run the name of the White House chief
    of staff through Agency personnel files? Osbourne, you are a
    counterterrorism officer. What did you think Vandenberg was going to do,
    blow up the White House? Shoot his boss? Hijack Air Force One?"
    "No."
    "I'm waiting."
    Michael wondered exactly why he was here. The geeks down in the computer
    room must have blown the whistle on him. Either someone was watching the
    activity of his computer log-in or a trip wire had been placed on
    Vandenberg's file. When Michael tried to read it, an alarm sounded
    somewhere in the system. The whole thing smelled like a Monica Tyler
    production. Michael had but one recourse now: tell part of the truth and
    hope his relationship with Carter would spare further bloodshed. "I
    heard from someone I trust that he had an Agency background, and I
    wanted to check it out. It was a mistake, Adrian. I'm sorry."
    "You're goddamned right it was a mistake. Let me make something clear to
    you. The Agency's files are not here for your reading enjoyment. They
    are not to be surfed. They are not for you to take out on a joy ride. Am
    I making myself clear, Michael?"
    "Crystal."
    "You're not in the field anymore, where you operate on your own terms.
    You work at headquarters, and you play by the rules."
    "Understood."
    Carter looked at McManus, and McManus closed the door. "Now, between us
    girls, I know you're a damned good officer, and you wouldn't have tried
    to read that file unless it was important. Do you have something you
    want to tell us at this time?"
    "Not yet, Adrian."
    "All right. Get the fuck out of here."
    CHAPTER